


Rotten Time Blinks Twice

by CaptainRogers



Category: Actor RPF, Chris Evans - Fandom, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Angst, Autumn, Blood, Dark, Death, Depression, Explicit Language, Family, Gen, Hallucinations, Introspection, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, One Shot, Parallel Universes, Playgrounds, Self-Hatred, Siblings, Smoking, Social Anxiety, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 10:20:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2384834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainRogers/pseuds/CaptainRogers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Growing up wasn't worth it, anyway.</p>
<p>A dark, autumnal tale that unfolds in a universe much like this one. Only, it's a little different there.<br/>Skewed. Shadowed. Sad.<br/>A universe in which I did not care to venture, not even for Chris Evans.</p>
<p>A nightmare from which I was glad to awake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rotten Time Blinks Twice

Christopher closed his eyes and inhaled the sweet toxicity of the chemicals. New car smell made him uncomfortable, permeated his mind with urgent images of injecting mountain air and ocean water directly into his veins to counteract the leathery scent overtaking his body. After reopening his eyes and permanently saving the scenery drug as a mental escape, he realized with muted alarm that he couldn't recall getting out of bed that morning.

_Are you sure you want to delete the file wakingup.mp4? Yes or Yes._ Forgotten brain malfunctions were never a good sign.

Up ahead the colorful jungle gyms and play equipment loomed into stark focus. Children crawled over the fun distractions like bugs, jolted into the air on swings like birds on life support.

“Thanks for doing this, Chris. I still can’t believe they called me in for a meeting on such short notice.”

Almost there. Unnatural green turf and hornet yellow slides and primary blue swing sets and firetruck red monkey bars. All so fake, so staged. The colors were gross to look at. What happened to the great outdoors? They _were_ outside, weren’t they? Or maybe it was all plastic, inside a bubble dome, a completely man-made reality labeled as good.

“Hopefully everything’s okay.”

Christopher’s sister Crystal pulled the latest model of Subaru Crosstrek up to the curb and stopped at the corner. “You’re up for this, right?” She looked at him with harried concern. _I know you’re emotionally unstable but I don’t have any other options right now and work takes precedence over my child._ That type of look.

“I’m fine, sis. Don’t worry about me. Go to your meeting and I’ll take care of Hannah.” He offered a dull smile. All that he could muster, and it seemed to be enough.

“Okay. Shouldn’t be longer than an hour.” Crystal turned around in her seat to enthuse Hannah with sudden excitement. “Mommy’s gotta go to her job for a little while, but Uncle Chris is gonna take you to the park, alright?”

“Mommy, I’m hungry,” the 5-year-old halfheartedly whined.

“We’ll get dinner when I’m done, honey.”

Christopher opened his door and stepped out of the mid-size SUV, entering the chilling autumn air. The sunshine had deceived him. He went to the back to grab Hannah from her car seat. Once he had her in his arms, Crystal said hurriedly, “I love you, sweetie. Have fun with Uncle Chris!” The six-foot-tall, handsomely sculpted man shut the door awkwardly with his elbow and immediately the Crosstrek zoomed down the road. They found themselves in a well-to-do part of town—the uppitiest of the uppity. Hannah squirmed and Christopher let her free. As soon as she bounded off, tow-headed and zipped tight into a little brown bomber jacket, his mind fell into another dimension. She was safe, the area appeared to be void of creeps, he didn’t have the energy to worry beyond that. A few other sets of children and seemingly well-aware adults littered the small park. He wandered slowly, each step purposeful and yet wary, hands hiding in the pockets of his dark gray pea coat. Palms sweaty. Why were they sweaty? The breeze whispered ominously, pulling lifeless leaves into itself and tossing them about with ruthless fervor. Poor things couldn’t rest on the ground for two seconds without being thrown around over and over again.

His palms were always sweaty. System ran nervous. Or, at least, that’s what his therapist had helped him become aware of. He hadn’t always known that. He’d heard of the term “anxiety” before, but never thought to apply it to himself. Paired with “disorder,” the label especially shouted with intimidation. Add “depression” to the mix with a dash of “schizoid tendencies” and you had a brilliant recipe for a 32-year-old’s crisis.

Hannah had made it to the playground and had already introduced herself to several other children, but Christopher barely registered this. The parents on that ugly green turf, were they looking at him? Were they scoffing at him? They’d most likely noticed the unattended girl dash up to play with their children, maybe they’d looked back and seen the tall, lone man, certainly old enough to be a father, obviously holding familial resemblance, and then maybe they’d taken pity on him. Not from in their hearts, not compassionately, but in their judgmental brains. An intellectual pity, _what a poorly looking single dad, children come closer and huddle into our cozy nuclear family so we can all pity him together._

He already didn’t like this place.

Cautiously he reached the edge of the turf, shyly eyeing his options like a half-tame wolf puppy—did he perch on the benches with the elite and survey the offspring, or did he commit to train the younger pups when he himself didn’t even know how to survive?

An alpha male sprung suddenly from an ideally placed bench at the far end, as his clumsy spawn had fallen and currently wailed in pain. Christopher took the opportunity to steal the seat and hope for relative peace. He knew, consciously, that he shouldn’t feel this way. He knew that he wasn’t under attack. He doubted anyone would even talk to him. Let Hannah do her kid thing, try not to make eye contact with other humans, Crystal would be back soon enough. He marked the far bench as his with an air of cold defensiveness. Were he to look into a mirror, he would be disgusted by how sullen his face was. Jaw set and sharply defined, peppered with lazy stubble. Piercing ice-blue eyes as the main feature, eyes that appeared hollow, snowy, blind. Gazing into everything and yet seeing nothing. Lips ashen, set in a line of—what _was_ that, irritation? Disappointment? Regret?

On the surface, perhaps. But written deeper, a secret, tattooed upon the stormy flecks of his eyes, was hopelessness.

Now stoically situated, he could breathe a little easier, but still did another darting scan of the area. Thought to check in on Hannah. She, of course, was fine. Independent, but not disobediently so. Talking and laughing and playing with a boy about the same age, with darker hair, and another blonde girl who toddled dangerously under careful surveillance by her mother. He couldn’t hear what they were going on about.

Christopher leaned forward, resting his chin on curled knuckles. On one hand, their antics fascinated him. They were a dwarfish rag-tag army, Hannah as their commander, raiding the slide until the miniature crow’s nest needed defeat. Then they went across the thick rope bridge, back towards the unruly slide (probably a rebellion amongst the peasants there) and as they did, with Tiny Blonde’s mom helping her along the way, Hannah wrapped her stubby fingers around her new friend’s and continued on like nothing had happened. So simple. Heat of the battle. Innocent instinctive need for companionship.

On the other hand, he didn’t care. Observed, but didn’t feel attached. Floated aimlessly. Watched in boredom. No desire to understand or partake.

His palms sweat. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching before wiping them over his knees.

He didn’t like this.

He didn’t like the children. He was envious of them. Their lives were so small—food, bathroom, play, learn. Learn how to eat without making a mess, learn how to potty in the toilet instead of a diaper, learn how to play without being a jerk to the other kids.

He was uncomfortable. His palms sweat.

Hannah gestured to thin air and yelled, “Oh no, look! A monster!” and they screamed and giggled and scattered. “This way!” They dodged under the steps of the big playset, barely missing the monster’s claws.

What was real, and what was imagination?

This is why Christopher felt uncomfortable. Felt envious. The children were allowed to pretend, to make-believe, to cross that line into god-knows-where, a fantasy land, where monsters existed in plain sight and chased them endlessly and bared their teeth and chortled with evil intent. Lying in wait, biding their time. Knowing the kiddos would make a tasty snack. The children played this consistently. They were expected to, and praised for their stellar imaginations.

But when he did it, he was “crazy.” “Hospitalized.”

_Where did imagination end, and reality begin?_

He hated himself. Tapped his boot-clad foot on the turf.

This shit wasn’t _real_ grass. It was pretend.

Maybe we were all pretend.

They called him crazy and he hated himself, or maybe he just hated the crazy, _the fucking crazy_ , it didn’t matter because we were all pretend anyway and his palms _were sweating_ and he rung his large, rough-hewn hands and wanted to leave and wanted a cigarette and Hannah was still holding on to that boy’s hand and he suddenly was so _stuck on that_.

They were young, primal, privileged. Growing up wasn’t worth it.

A wind gust roared up, sending a pack of leaves scurrying across the ugly pretend earth. One of the leaves was huge, perfect, as big as Hannah’s face. She chose it, lifted the dead specimen from the ground and gaped in utter awe. In an instant, she’d dropped New Friend’s hand and practically flew across the turf for show-and-tell.

“Uncle Chris! Uncle Chris look!” A proud mommy, cradling her glorious leaf baby and pronouncing _Chris_ almost like _kiss_. She was getting there. She was learning.

But growing up wasn’t worth it.

She halted directly in front of him, holding out beautiful, dead Leaf Baby like a prize.

He hazed out of his reverie long enough to shine a full, sincere smile. “Wow, kiddo. That’s awesome. It’s as big as you are, huh?”

“Yeah!” she agreed, and before flitting off to rejoin the small band of children, left the leaf in his possession. Just placed it in his hand and disappeared.

Not even a second after she turned, his face had collapsed back into its desolate state. Now he held the waving leaf by the stem, and his eyes watered. He blamed it on the frigid wind but knew he was simply crying. The smile had been genuine, fueled by Hannah’s pure appreciative nature. He wouldn’t smile like that again for a long time. He was spent, drained, overwhelmed by the leaf between his fingers, by the idea that someone could love life so naively, so angelically.

Overwhelmed by his humanness, his _brokenness_ , overwhelmed because _he held a gigantic piece of stagnant art and he was crying about it._

He tried nonchalantly to wipe away the single tear that had fallen down his face. In doing so, his grip on the leaf faltered, and again he found himself alone as it fluttered away into the world. Into the land of monsters.

His palms were dry.

Hannah had already moved on from the leaf. She would never know that it had been torn from him to continue on its unpredictable journey. She, it seemed, had also moved on from holding New Friend’s hand. The fickle ways of a child. With slight and unmotivational dismay, Christopher saw that she had sweetly coerced a nearby parent into pushing her on the swings. He didn’t care enough to confront the situation and assert his temporary guardianship. The woman appeared kind enough, more than willing to look after another child. Pale hair, white skin, radiating in the autumn sunlight like an animated porcelain doll. She was thin and bundled in a drably-hued cable knit sweater, scarf, and knee-length coat.

She was pretty. Her soft, gentle smile comforted him.

He stopped himself and turned his face away.

_No_ . She _wasn’t_ pretty.

He wouldn’t think it. He _couldn’t_.

Heat rose in his body again, an awful fire demon, controlling him, mocking his loss of control. The breath caught in his throat, more tears taunted his ego in awful pricks. He squeezed his eyelids shut, his feminine, black lashes a surprisingly graceful contrast to his mopey shaving habits. _Goddammit, Crystal, how fucking long does this fucking take._

How much longer, suffering in this fabrication? Wondering where the monsters were lurking?

His entire body shivered, but the sick heat ate him up, bleeding into his hands, his chest, his flushed cheeks. He needed to get out.

_Fuck it._ His disregarded the impending dirty looks and determinedly stood, striding to a spot away from the play area but remaining in view of Hannah while pulling a pack of Marlboro 100’s and a white Bic from his pocket. As soon as his feet had passed over the green turf and onto the actual living grass he’d felt better. Clearer. _Real. This is real. Where are the monsters I don’t see any._

He opened the pack and slid out a cigarette—now _she_ was pretty. Lighting his savior in this weather proved a frustrating challenge. His lighter-flicking became angrier and angrier as the fire continually failed to do its job. He cupped his left hand fiercely around the base of operations to shield the wind, without success.

“Fuck!” he cursed loudly, lips around the filter, hands dropped down to his sides and head thrown back in exasperation. Where the _fuck_ was his trusty, war-torn Zippo in his time of need?

The only person who seemed to hear him was the Thin White Duchess. She continued to switch back and forth between pushing Hannah and her own charge, another girl, on the swings. Her gaze fell upon the sighing man. He caught her line of sight with his own but couldn’t wait for the inevitable, sour judgement. If he had held their mutual look, he would’ve seen that she, in fact, did not judge him, but instead shared her quiet, healing smile.

But he didn’t want it. He didn’t need it.

In the midst of a lull in the breeze, he made another attempt to infect the torturously gorgeous cigarette with flame, and this time it worked. The cherry end crackled satisfactorily as he inhaled, held the smoke in his lungs, placated his heightened agitation. He began to pace over a small patch of land, slipping his unused hand in his pocket and absentmindedly running his thumb along the spine of the sleeping lighter.

Hannah was being taken care of, this cigarette made his body feel wonderful, he could actually take air into his lungs again. Maybe the playground wasn’t so bad.

The thought had barely formed before he winced and started in sudden pain, smacking his bicep instinctively as if bitten by a mosquito. The sting felt more akin to the afterglow of a harsh pinch. “Jesus fucking christ…” He rubbed the area with the opposite arm and initiated his did-anyone-just-see-me-make-a-total-fool-of-myself surveillance scan, but everyone in the park was otherwise occupied. Although something was different. Obviously different. But the exact change wouldn’t click in his brain. Hannah no longer sat on the swing, pumping her little legs and demanding, “higher, higher!” She was running towards him, boots shlumping smally through the grass. She held a leaf.

Huge, perfect, as big as her face.

“Uncle Chris! Uncle Chris look!” A proud mommy, cradling her glorious leaf baby and pronouncing _Chris_ almost like _kiss_. She was getting there. She was learning.

But growing up wasn’t worth it.

She halted directly in front of him, holding out beautiful, dead Leaf Baby like a prize.

He hazed out of his reverie long enough to shine a full, sincere smile and knelt down to her level. “Wow, kiddo. That’s awesome. It’s as big as you are, huh?”

“Yeah!” she agreed.

He took a drag and made sure to blow the smoke away from her face.

Something was different. Something was the same. And something was _wrong_.

Before flitting off to reconquer the empty playground, she left the leaf in his possession. Just placed it in his free hand and disappeared. Christopher hadn’t noticed everyone leaving the park until just now. The atmosphere sulked with stark desolation. Despite his overwhelming dysphoria, the lack of company made him feel comfortable enough to join Hannah in playing on the swings. _With_ his cigarette. Hell, a whole _pack_ of cigarettes. He could push with one hand. Light those fuckers up. Maybe even give one to Hannah.

Growing up wasn’t worth it, anyway.

He held the leaf in his palm, and without thinking shoved it in his pocket and strode across the grass towards the play equipment.

Stopped dead in his tracks, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, smoke twirling up above his head, deathly halo.

_The grass._

Under the swing set was gravel. Other than that, the turf had transformed into grass.

He already needed another cigarette. Society wasn’t the source of his anxiety this time as he scanned his surroundings again in fear. Reality itself frightened him. He couldn’t fathom if his mind had legitimately snapped or if something really fucked up was happening.

Hannah babbled happily while Christopher half-heartedly helped her to gain momentum. He didn’t especially listen, just snagged the words “mommy,” “boy,” and “stupid.”

_Is she old enough to use that word?_

More concerned with minutely detailing the scenery and obsessively trying to catalogue differences. _The grass._ Was the sun this dim before? Did that house directly across the street have those white columns on the porch? He threw the cigarette butt to the gravel and put his hand into his pocket to feel the leaf. Smooth. Doomed to increasing fragility. But still there.

A rust-orange Subaru Crosstrek jerked up to the curb in the near-distance and honked once.

“Mommy!” Hannah careened off the swing and bolted to the vehicle in excitement. For a supposedly hungry child, she had plenty of energy reserves. But why even worry about that when everything else felt so fucking _wrong?_ Similar world to the one with the turf, but one peg over? The sight of the Crosstrek wasn't reassuring, just more unsettling. He had an abstract feeling of being out of sync. In a time glitch. Suffering from the effects of a hiccup in the universe.

_He did not belong here._

He wasn't looking forward to reaching Crystal's vehicle, so he took his sweet time trudging across the park. _It's not her. What if I look inside and it's not her._ Hannah already stood impatiently at the back door, struggling to successfully pull it open, and whoever sat in the driver's seat made a "hurry your ass up" motion towards him with their hand. _It's not Crystal it's not her it's not it's someone else I don't like this place._ Not that he could see the driver's face from here. But he knew. Just _knew_. Considered idly smoking another cigarette in avoidance.

The passenger's side front window glided down. "Christopher! Will you put Hannah in her carseat please?" Crystal's voice, brimming with irritation. "I'm leaving without you if you don't get the hell over here." Just because the snap sounded like Crystal didn't mean it was her. He wasn't convinced. She usually acted pretty high-strung but that intense of a threat seemed uncharacteristic in light of the situation.

"Uncle Chris! Uncle Chris look!"

The exclamation hadn't originated from the little girl outside the Crosstrek. Reluctantly, he turned. Hannah galloped towards him with a monstrous leaf in her hand. The clear blue sky flickered monotone like a dismal rave, and he considered scooping his eyes out with his hands but settled for jamming them shut. _Have you taken your meds today Christopher? Well, have you? No no no I don't remember I don't KNOW YES I TOOK THEM I AM NOT CRAZY THIS IS NOT CRAZY I KNOW WHAT I AM SEEING WHAT I AM SEEING IS REAL._ When the soul-windows shuttered open again, Leaf Hannah had vanished, her repeated words echoing across the empty desert of his mind.

Change of plan. Desperate to get inside the shiny Subaru. Maybe once they started driving, everything would be okay. Back to normal. He jogged over to assist Hannah in wrenching open the door, placing her in the car seat and rapidly buckling it, not brave enough to peer up front. What if the driver was a Monster Crystal, a _Leaf Crystal_.

_"Look, brother Chris! Look!"_ Black eyes as big as puddles, widening, _gaping_ , her hand waving a shriveled brown leaf with crimson blood seeping through its veins. The dry foliage fluctuated in size, pumping larger and smaller like a Frankenstein heart.

But when he jumped into the front seat and glanced as casually as possible to his left, the person who sat there with her hands firmly gripping the steering wheel was none other than his sister. Normal Crystal. Or, a damn good replica of her. "Alrighty," he began an attempt at light-heartedness, "where to next? Dinner? I'm famished, what about you, Hannah?" Swiveled around with abrupt enthusiasm, drowning for backup and met with a blank stare.

Initially, Crystal failed to reply. Her stony face was full of annoyed confusion and a little bit of murder. She shifted out of park, spiteful eyes glued on her brother. "Hannah?" she finally spat quizzically. "Who the _fuck_ is Hannah?"

Crystal _never_ swore in front of her daughter.

Christopher's hand shot into his pocket, lightly caressing the leaf. He suddenly decided he didn't want it and vehemently discarded the thin carcass out the already-down window. Before rolling the glass back up, he gazed longingly at the bench he'd been situated on what seemed like seconds ago. Getting into the car hadn't made him feel any better. _Why was Crystal such an Angry Crystal?_ She looked the same. But maybe she was Monster Crystal in a mask, and any moment she would tear the skin from her skull, scalp and all, meat ripping away, strings of flesh catching around her eyes and hairline and her lips would split into a grin and her straight teeth would be tarry black and _oozing_ and she would reach into her mouth, _she reached into her mouth, down her throat, and pulled out a slimy, throbbing mass of rotting leaves_ _—_

He wanted the bench again. He wanted a goddamn cigarette. He wanted the goddamn turf. Fuck the grass _—h_ _e didn't want the fucking grass anymore, goddammit._ He wanted it to go away. He _needed_ it to go away.

Crystal slammed on the gas and wrenched the car away from the curb. She'd been known occasionally for severe mood swings (general instability was a thing in their family), but certainly not for treating Christopher in such an unrefined way in front of her daughter. Typically when mad, she acted calmly, as if everything was all right, and smiled too much. Let out an obnoxiously loud, mirthless laugh. Adopted a horrifyingly chipper manner. That's when he knew she was pissed beyond belief. As much as he desired to take a nose dive out of a moving car and jump off the nearest bridge, he tried another attempt at civility.

Not sure how to answer the _who the fuck is Hannah_ inquiry, he asked, "Uh, so how'd the meeting go?"

Terse silence. Crystal's driving became increasingly more reckless. Above the speed limit now. The residential area was full of unmarked intersections, and she neglected to check any of them for cross traffic. Didn't even slow down.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Chris?" Another question. So many questions. He had no idea how to answer this one, either. "I mean, I leave her in your care for _one fucking hour._ I really don't think _one fucking hour_ of your time is too much to ask. But you are inept. I see that now. I never should've believed that you were better. And now look what's happened."

What _had_ happened? Granted, he'd barely interacted with Hannah at the park, hadn't stepped in and faked the "happy Uncle Chris" lie, but she'd been perfectly content. She was fine. She'd made friends and played on the swings and found a giant leaf. She was still on his side, she had to be. He believed children had a quiet understanding of others' pain before becoming inundated by societal norms. Before the _"how are you?" "I'm fine, thanks,"_ became an unfeeling ritual. She understood. She had to.

"You had fun at the park today, didn't ya, kiddo?" Christopher turned in his seat again to face his niece directly, to prove to Angry Crystal― _not Monster Crystal not yet nope don't know that for sure yet_ ―that _he was responsible, he'd handled the situation just fine, he was okay and she had no right to be acting this way._

Sharp bone stuck out from Hannah's arm, an ugly break just below the elbow, caked in bloody mud. She sat perfectly still and just stared at him with unbelievably huge blue eyes, leaves and dirt in her hair, _why did you let this happen to me Uncle Chris why weren't you paying closer attention I hate you I hate you I hate you._ "Hannah?" His voice wavered in shock. This wasn't _possible_.

"My name isn't Hannah," she answered in what seemed like an awfully mature tone for a child. Very composed, very quiet, and unexpectedly sinister.

"You've gone too fucking far this time, Chris. I'm taking you back."

"Crystal, I―"

"And _stop_ calling my daughter Hannah, it is _not_ her name."

Christopher had never felt so terrified in his entire life. He'd had some pretty scary experiences before, but this so far was taking the cake. His own _sister_ , his wonderful, carefree little niece―they were gone. He couldn't trust them. He couldn't trust anyone. Trapped in a moving vehicle with two monsters. Who knew when the leaves would be here? When Not Hannah would unbuckle and stand, patting the top of Christopher's head with her broken arm before taking a leaf from her hair and placing it in her mouth, chewing, and Leaf Crystal would be proud, so proud, as Not Hannah put her small hand on his neck and sunk her little fingers into the skin and he screamed and struggled but couldn't get away and she ripped out his jugular and blood glazed the inside of the window, a neat red spray, and he was struggling and suffocating under a mound of dirt and decaying leaves, breathing in the grit and death and beginning his transformation. The life-liquid seeped from his body, mixing with the autumn asphyxiates and creating a dead Christopher soup.

A dream, stuck in a dream, time had slowed and he turned his traumatized gaze gradually, slower than a weathering statue, back to the driver's seat. He felt a tendon split in his soul. His sister's face showed genuine concern, no malice, no disappointment, only unadulterated worry. Christopher's mind thrashed left and right, was it a trick, was it _really_ Normal Crystal or was it just a perfect lie enticing him to his death?

Their eyes exchanged wavering emotions, both uncertain but both afraid.

He decided in a split second (or maybe the decision took years, he couldn't tell at this point) to trust. He had to try. This was his sister. She would never hurt him. He would trust, or die trying. The car continued its journey forward, Crystal studying her brother with growing anxiety instead of watching the road, saw a spark alight in those ice-blue eyes that ignited his demeanor from a frozen horror to a panicked one.

"Christopher, are you―"

"Crystal, you have to―"

The siblings' words collided. Neither of them got the chance to finish. Crystal's eyes were trained on her brother. He was trembling, his face a sheet of sheer dread and his breathing jilted, and she was debating whether their next stop should be the hospital.

She didn't see the other vehicle gliding towards them through the intersection. On the left, gliding towards them, not pausing, the driver of the large truck trying to find a radio station not playing commercials, she didn't _see_ but the dark hysteria in Christopher's eyes had already made her stomach drop. She didn't see the truck as it impacted with the Crosstrek, but Christopher did. In a single blink the truck was upon them, out of nowhere, _the fucking driver looking down at the console what the fuck was he thinking Crystal what the fuck are you thinking look out fucking look ou―_

The instant before they rolled and Christopher's neck snapped sideways from the force of impact, he watched the limp-doll body of his sister regain inhuman composure, her head twitching to stillness, one last time looking at her brother.

Her eyes were solid black.

Christopher spiraled into them until the night ate up his entire world.

All three were dead on arrival, but the driver of the truck barely had a scratch. Miraculous, really. Head held in his hands, he lamented about how he should have been watching the road, if only he hadn't been fiddling with the _stupid_ radio, he had _killed_ three innocent people, one only a _child_ , and how was he supposed to live with that?

He wouldn't. In a month's time his wife would leave him for another man and he would continue a devilish cycle downwards and downwards and _down_ until one evening he looked in the mirror, haggard and empty, and called himself _child-killer_ and put a gun in his mouth, painting the bathroom ceiling a very nice shade of brain.

When the paramedics arrived and loaded Christopher's twisted body onto the stretcher, covering his death with a pale shroud, a leaf―huge, perfect, as big as Hannah’s mangled face―landed on his silent chest. A shuddering paper heart to keep him company on his boat ride down the river Styx. A prize token for Hades. Who needed a coin for entry? This leaf was better than some old coin. This leaf knew space and time.

This leaf had seen the truck coming.

* * *

Christopher awoke to a frantic pounding on his bedroom door.

"Chris? Hey, are you up? _Chris?_ "

He groaned and looked at the clock. The glowing red numbers were too blurry for his weary vision to make out, but he had a feeling it read _it's late, fucker, get the fuck out of bed_.

"Well, I am now," he muttered, then in a sleepy rasp his sister could actually hear, "Yeah, you can come in."

The door creaked open and Crystal peeked around the edge, looking frenzied but certainly more presentable than he was at the moment. "Hey, I'm really sorry but you weren't answering your phone and it's kind of an emergency." She waited while he attempted to prop his body up but was struck by a head rush, the whole universe suddenly dancing behind his eyelids.

"No, I―I'm just really tired. What's going on?" He rubbed his hands over his face as if he could wipe the exhaustion off and tried again to focus the blur.

"The office called me in. I need someone to watch Hannah for a bit. I mean, if it's not too much trouble."

To say no would be a sin. He could tell that her guarded levy was breaking, that any moment her facade of strong single mom would come crashing down in tears. "Don't worry about it. I can help." Not _technically_ a lie, although he doubted the validity of the statement. She probably should worry about it, because he wasn't sure how much help he would actually be in his current state. But he knew the guilt of not trying would outweigh the struggle of forcing himself to move.

"She really wants to play at the park."

Christopher tossed off the plaid down comforter, exposing his boxer-clad body to the furnaceless bite of the air. "Yeah, sure. Sounds―fun. Lemme get dressed." Crystal left him alone, and he thought now maybe it hadn't been such a great idea to give his sister a key to his apartment. At the time she had insisted and he had been too catatonic to argue. He wrapped himself in a ragged navy bathrobe from the foot of the bed and shuffled into the bathroom, picking through days-old clothes to find an acceptable outfit.

_God, I look like shit._

He scratched the gnarly stubble eclipsing the lower part of his face. _Are you sure you want to delete the file wakingup.mp4? Yes or Yes._

_"No,"_ he whispered, picking up the electric razor from the back of the sink, and began to shave.

 

 


End file.
